


Just Five of the Many Times Arthur and Eames Disagreed On Matters of Taste

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:50:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has their weaknesses. Eames hadn't thought Arthur's would be dreadful television, but there you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Five of the Many Times Arthur and Eames Disagreed On Matters of Taste

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this one. Well, other then "Someone requested a story about Arthur liking _Glee_ , and the idea wouldn't leave me alone." (In my defense, I think a mindlessly ridiculous show might have some appeal to someone with a job as stressful as Arthur's, but really... I have no excuse.)

******I.**

"What on earth," Yusuf asked, opening his eyes, "was that supposed to be?"

"Sorry," Arthur said, unwinding his iPod. "It was on shuffle."

Eames narrowed his eyes. "I am fairly sure shuffle does not work that way. Also, who precisely are you and what the hell have you done with Arthur?"

"Excuse me?"

"I thought better of you than _that_. I'm half-tempted to kick you off the team for an appalling lack of taste."

"God forbid I enjoy something pointless in my spare time. Besides, you can't actually _do_ that."

"None of this is actually answering my question," Yusuf pointed out. Eames rolled his eyes.

" _That_ was one of the many inexplicably popular horrors that American television has unleashed upon the unsuspecting world."

"What he means is that it's a song from a musical comedy called _Glee_ ," Arthur supplied, rolling his eyes.

"One of their more obnoxious and stereotypically gay performances - which, really, is saying quite a bit."

"I _liked_ it," Ariadne said loudly, detaching her own PASIV line. "And besides, Eames, after you terrified us all last week - "

"Look, 'Emilie Autumn' and 'Emergency Kick' are right next to each other in the playlists, all right?"

"My point is, you've got no right to talk. What was that called, Arthur?"

"'Don't Rain On My Parade.' If you're looking to download it, search under 'Rachel Berry' or 'Lea Michele' - that's the actress, she's quite good."

"Really? The name sounds familiar."

"It might. She's been on Broadway a couple of times, and won a few awards as well."

"God knows _how._ "

"Eames, seriously, could you please grow up?" Ariadne requested, sounding terrifyingly arch.

\----

 **II.**  
They always had some kind of background music playing in their base (the back rooms of an old shop in London, at the moment) these days; Arthur insisted it was good protocol, so that they'd only respond to slowed-down music and wouldn't panic in department stores, or any such thing. This had obviously lead to some rather significant squabbling over whose music got inflicted on the rest of them, but eventually they'd settled on Ariadne's iPod as reasonably painless.

This peace lasted until about a week after the incident with the kick music, when the latest ancient rock song tapered off and was followed by an outburst of harsh _sssh_ -ing beats. Eames glanced up in surprise to see Arthur and Ariadne grinning at each other.

"Oh God, this _isn't,_ " he groaned as the lyrics started up. _Sometimes, I go out by myself, and I look across the water..._

"Sorry," Ariadne chirped, sounding as far from contrite as humanly possible.

"Please, turn it off, have a little mercy on a man." He reached for the stereo, but Arthur grabbed his wrist.

"You're the only one who dislikes it, Eames," he said, sounding oddly mild given the force of his grip. "Surely you can tolerate one song."

"I am _not_ the only one - Yusuf, back me up here."

"I will not," the chemist said, flipping through his notebooks. "It's catchy. I'm fine with anything short of show tunes and rap."

Eames sighed, yanked his wrist free, and stalked back to his chair. He spent the rest of the day humming "Why don't you come on over?" and cursing Ariadne and Arthur in equal measure.

\----  
 **III.**

"Arthur, _darling_ ," Eames wheedled into his cell phone, leaning against the café door, "Oh great and illustrious point man who most certainly does not have any stick, poker or anything else inserted permanently into any orifices, whatever I may have said to the contrary - "

"What do you want, Eames?"

He sighed. "It's raining sheets of water, horizontally. I'm in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, I'm six blocks from the warehouse, and the café is about to close. Come get me?"

"Be there in ten. This is Roseanne's?"

"You know me too well."

"I can at the very least keep track of your whereabouts in the event that you get shot again. I'm on my way."

He arrives in fifteen minutes, with the rain only getting worse, and Eames crashes into the car, clutching a paper bag to his chest.

"Christ, Eames, am I driving a getaway car?"

"Not this time." He glanced at the stereo. "What the bloody hell is this?"

"You need me to drive you places, you get to deal with my music," Arthur said, unperturbed, and turned it up slightly. Eames sighed.

"Cheerful stuff," he remarked as the speakers blared _"Someone tell me, when is it my turn?"_

"It's a very well-known song," Arthur said, raising his voice over the swelling notes. "A remarkable performance, too, especially considering the actor is younger than Ariadne."

"The actor? Oh, no. This is something else from your pet garbage, isn't it?"

"If by 'my pet garbage,' you mean _Glee_ , then yes."

"I might have known."

"Do you want me to start on your habits?"

\----  
 **IV.**

Their next job started out in a bar; Yusuf, thankfully, had been talked into minding them on the surface, so they didn't have to track down another team member for the three-man con. All four of them were enjoying Arthur's excellent mental beer and waiting for the mark to get sufficiently drunk when Eames squinted at the hanging television and announced, "You know, Arthur, I'm fairly sure that most bars show some kind of sports game."

Arthur glanced up. "I'm sorry, what is it showing?"

"I think it's your pet abomination," Eames said, squinting at it. "The TV show, I mean."

"Same actors," Ariadne agreed, craning her neck, "and - yep, that's Sue Sylvester all right."

"I think this may be bordering on unhealthy," Eames sighed, flicking Arthur's arm. "Really, don't you ever think about anything else?"

"Yes, nearly constantly, many of those other things being how to stop you from causing yet more trouble. Besides, do you want me to bring up how obsessed you were with _Final Fantasy_ back in college? 'One-Winged Angel' - "

"Oh, do shut up," Eames grumped, waving to the bartender.

"Wait, which episode was _that_?" Ariadne asked, sounding awed. Eames glanced up to see a brown-haired girl in a plaid skirt making out with a blonde cheerleader. Huh.

"It hasn't happened, unfortunately," Arthur said, studying the screen. "Odd." He shoved back his chair. "I think it's time to work, my friends. Let's go help out a drunkard."

\----  
 **V.**

 _Oh bloody **perfect**_ , Eames thought, digging through his pocket. _My damn wallet is back in the warehouse._ He should probably go back for it; Arthur would be working late, so either the warehouse would be open or Eames could make a nuisance of himself until the other man let him in.

The back door was unlocked; Eames poked his head in and was immediately assaulted by the tail end of a choral Journey cover. Another attack of Arthur's bizarre taste.

He peeked unobtrusively into the main room from sheer force of habit (never go into a room until you know who's in there) just as the song ended and something with strings and horns started up. He was surprised to see Arthur glance up and smile like a fool; even more so when the first line started and Arthur chimed in with, "I really can't stay..."

Eames hated "Baby, It's Cold Outside" in any and every form, but Arthur had a surprisingly pleasant voice, warm and husky. He looked remarkably different, singing along as he packs up piles of paper, waving a hand in time with the flourishes of the horns.

"Oh, but it's cold out-side," he sang, swirling the end of a ballpoint pen for emphasis and chuckling to himself, and Eames realized what was strange: Arthur actually looked relaxed. Happy.

"What was that?" he asked, tapping on the doorframe as he stepped in. Arthur glanced over, actually seeming surprised - this evening just got stranger and stranger.

"The song? That was more of that horrible American travesty I like so much," he said, straightening up and fixing his tie, and suddenly Eames understood why it might have some appeal.

"Eames? Is everything all right? You look odd."

He shook himself. "No, I'm fine, sorry. Just zoned out for a moment. Ah, there's my wallet." He grabbed it, headed for the door, and then stopped and looked around. "You're not still working, are you? Come on, take a break. Yusuf and I are introducing Ariadne to the joys of a good post-job drink, and we may as well have someone responsible along."

"Well then, I guess I'd better come," Arthur said, smiling again. "Just let me get my things."

Really, that was an unexpectedly unfamiliar smile. Eames resolved to fix that.

Purely for forging purposes, of course.

(At least if anyone, for some unfathomable reason, asked.)


End file.
